Matrimony
by LifeLoveLoathing
Summary: It takes an otherwise joyous celebration to remind Olivia Benson of a desire she's always had, but never knew. One-Shot, E/O, R&R appreciated!


**A/N: I have written countless other stories for countless other fandoms for many years, but this is my first story on this particular account and my first published story after an extended hiatus. This is also my first SVU fanfic, so please be firm, but gentle! All reviews and feedback are greatly appreciated! This is just a quick little one-shot that as serving as my procrastination during final exams. More stories will come as the summer progresses. Thanks for reading! **

**Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, do not own Law & Order: SVU. Dick Wolf owns Law & Order: SVU. If he were to consider selling the series, I would be happily be in contention to purchase it... for a sale price. If not, well... I'll settle for owning the next 3,500 words. **

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><strong>Matrimony<br>**A Law & Order: SVU One-Shot by LifeLoveLoathing**  
><strong>

She watched in awe as the deep red liquid moved ever so close to the edge of its hold, soaking everything that was once dry, disrupting anything that might have resembled peace. Then she jerked her hand in the opposite direction, repeating the motion on the other side of the glass. Even with the glass completely saturated, the amount of merlot left inside of it did not multiply as she would have irrationally hoped. So she continued to swish and swirl, thinking that just maybe something would bubble up and serve to entertain her.

She was snapped from her content preoccupation with her wine by a hand on the small of her back and a whisper in her ear.

"I didn't pay fifty thousand dollars for you to stand alone by the bar all night." His skin was rough on her cheek, and as he moved away, the glint in his eyes and the smirk on his lips pulled a grin from within her. But her expression was short-lived as she realized the magnitude of his words.

"El!" She hissed, choking back bile with a bit of a full-bodied twang. "Fifty thousand dollars?" She knew he'd been stressed about spending so much, but she didn't realize it had been quite that much. He did not have that kind of money, and she would have questioned him as to how he could have possibly made it work, but the wide, all-encompassing smile playing across his face was enough to tell her that it wasn't the time to have such a conversation.

He shrugged and lifted the drink she suddenly realized he was holding in the hand that wasn't lightly attached to her back. Scotch on the rocks, she knew. He took a small sip, "She's my first born." And his eyes flew past her, landing on something – someone – that made them swell with pride.

She glanced around the room, taking in the flowers and the fabrics and the candlelight and the plethora of people engaged in celebration.

"You did a good job. It's beautiful." Her hand found its way to his tuxedo-clad shoulder, lightly squeezing it in a message of approval, as if he needed it.

"And look how happy she is. That makes it all worth it... every last cent."

She spun around to follow his eyes, falling on the young blonde woman, glowing in white lace, on the arm of a handsome, beaming man.

She instantly felt a stab of pain somewhere in the pit of her stomach. It wasn't that she didn't love Maureen. It wasn't that she was not overjoyed about her happiness, because she was. But this day, this celebration, brought about another emotion in her that she couldn't quite identify. And whatever it was, it hurt.

So she gripped Elliot's jacket tighter and, somewhere between the tears that threatened to escape, a strained - honest - "congratulations" managed to escape her lips.

It was then that the bride caught sight of the other couple in the immediate vicinity, the one that was not bonded together through marriage, but who potentially knew each other better than any other couple in the room. The bride smiled, captured her groom's hand, and led him across the floor.

"Liv!" was the first thing she exclaimed as soon as she was within earshot, and she abandoned the hand of her new husband to throw her arms around the older woman, the one she had known for half her life.

Olivia laughed at the force with which she was pulled into Maureen's arms, trying with all her might to keep the deep ruby wine from splattering onto the crisp white lace covering her back. As she pulled away, she looked at the girl with approbation gracing her face: "You look flawless, sweetie."

Maureen reached back to reclaim the arm of her new husband. She took in the slightly confused expression playing across his features and decided to make introductions.

"Liv, this is my... husband," she bubbled over at the word, "Andrew Fleming."

Andrew was tall and broad-shouldered, with sandy hair, a chiseled jaw, and piercing crystal-blue eyes, almost reminiscent of his father-in-law's. Olivia wondered if the familiarity had been what initially drew Maureen to him.

"Andrew," she continued, "this is Olivia Benson, my dad's work wife."

The young man's eyes widened as his gaze shifted between his father-in-law and the mysterious woman who was not his mother-in-law standing at his side. "...work wife?"

"His partner," she clarified, a giggle threatening to escape her throat, "They've worked together for... God, guys, how long has it been?" She answered her own question before anyone else got the chance. "Most of my life, it seems." She rested her hand on her father's partner's arm, a gesture overflowing with respect and admiration. "Olivia is almost part of the family."

And then Olivia's breath hitched in her throat. Her stomach churned. She felt immediately compelled to lift the ever-dwindling amount of wine to her lips and gulp. That word. _Almost._

She was grateful when a bridesmaid appeared to drag the happy couple away, into some other conversation. She was grateful when Elliot stayed behind with her. She was grateful when his grip on the steel grey fabric of her cocktail dress strengthened ever so slightly. And for a second, she leaned back into his outstretched palm – into his touch – and sighed, feeling comfortable with herself again.

"She makes me feel old." She said it into the air, but Elliot knew she was talking about his daughter.

"You?" He chuckled. "She makes you feel old? I remember carrying her in my arms like it was yesterday." He shook his head slowly in disbelief and stopped its rotations while his head was facing her.

He stared intently at something. Perhaps it was her cheek or the silver earring dangling from her ear. Maybe it was the way her honey brown hair was tamed into submission by a curling iron and hairspray, or her tan skin dipping from her defined and exposed collar bone, under the neckline of the shimmery strapless dress. Or maybe it was the hairs on the back of her neck, which stood at attention as she pondered what it could be that he was looking at. "We still have time left though, don't we?"

She turned then to meet his insistent blue gaze. "Of course we do." And she didn't exactly know what she was agreeing to.

Their discussion of nostalgia was interrupted, then, by the photographer, who retrieved the father of the bride for pictures of the immediate family; he had no use for Olivia. And so she was left alone, again, as always.

She returned to her familiar perch by the bar, deciding, as she took the final swig of her merlot, that she would take advantage of the free alcohol of the open bar and indulge in something stronger: vodka and tonic. The clear liquid burned its way down her throat, but it didn't burn hot enough, and she kept sipping - hoping she would feel something - until her glass was rendered empty. She opted for straight Grey Goose on the rocks only a few short minutes later.

And then she watched. She watched as the best man made a slightly off-color toast. She watched as the maid of honor, the bride's closest sister, shed a sentimental tear. She watched as her partner took the hand of his oldest daughter - the woman that 0livia had first met as a gangly fourteen-year-old - and spun her around the dance floor, whispering words of fatherly wisdom and pride in her ear in that way only Elliot could, as Maureen occasionally threw her head back in fits of giggles. She watched as the happy groom, a man so fresh and purely in love, cut in to dance with his bride. She watched as Kathy, who was floating along the edge of the dance floor and looking on with glistening eyes, found her way into the abandoned arms of her husband. And they shared the floor with the newer couple, reveling in the happiness of something, someone, they created together.

And then Olivia had to excuse herself. It was all far too much for her to handle.

The room attached at the back to a balcony, one that served to provide guests with fresh air and a view of the Hudson and the lively skyline that was New Jersey. That was her destination, as she rested her drink down on some forgotten table and made a bee-line for the double doors. The terrace was empty, and Olivia was alone. It was no surprise to her, she always was. She let the crisp Manhattan air cleanse her of the solidarity that plagued her thoughts.

Olivia never liked weddings. She was never a fan of the pageantry or the tradition. She didn't buy the idea that two families could possibly be joined as one by rings, an open bar and a seven course meal. Perhaps that was because she never had a family of her very own, and she had long ago abandoned the idea of ever engaging in such a marriage herself; big and obnoxious or otherwise.

She had no family to speak of. Her mother – the only link she ever possessed to any sort of life beyond herself – was gone. Her lone half-brother could hardly comprise an entire family. She had isolated herself from most friends with the amount of time she spent devoted to her job. And lovers? They came and went with the weather. She spent many a holiday curled up on her couch, staring down into a glass of God-knows-what, praying for the day to end.

Her partner of the past thirteen years proved to be the only constant in her life. He was her family. He was her best friend. He was her everything. It was only on this evening that she realized he was not.

She always knew Elliot had his own life. He had a wife and children with whom 0livia had nothing to do. But it suddenly dawned on her on that she was leading her own subconsciously delusional life, in which her partnership with Elliot extended beyond the realm of work. She always assumed herself to be part of his life, part of his family, when in reality she was an outsider.

Elliot's life extended far outside the doors of the one-six. Olivia's life did not. She fooled herself into believing that her relationship with her partner, a bond formed over common passion and emotion, was stronger than the bonds formed over things as trivial as rings and open bars and seven course meals. She was wrong; there was no contest between the relationships that existed in her heart and the relationships that existed on paper. The world worked in mysterious and trivial ways.

Its skewed axis was why, on a night when she should have been celebrating something amazing with hundreds of other people, she never felt more alone.

"Olivia?" For the second time that night, he interrupted her thought process and her self-loathing. This time, his presence was more unwelcome than before. Over the last twenty minutes, she'd grown to resent him – however irrational that might have seemed. She kept her back turned to the doorway, to him, to his approaching frame. When she ignored his call, he tried again: "Liv!"

He stood directly behind her, the heat of his body radiating on her exposed back and arms. It was only when he realized she had no intention of turning around that he took matters into his own hands. He took her arm and gently spun her to face him, chuckling, with all the good humor in the world. "Liv, what are you..."

He stopped when he met her deep brown eyes, covered by a sparkling sheen of unshed tears. They would have been essentially undetectable to anyone else, at any other time, but Elliot could see them. He was capable of defining every contour of her face, every fleck of gold in her eyes, and even more capable of knowing – on basic instinct – when something was wrong. "Olivia," his voice was softer now, as his grip on her forearm relaxed, "What's going on? What's wrong?"

It was the knowledge that he could sense even the most invisible of her pain that sent her over the edge, forcing the tears to spill over her eyelashes and stream down her cheeks without control.

"I knew you hated weddings but..." He realized his joke would fall flat before he finished it. His voice trailed off as she shifted her head to stare at her feet. "Liv... talk to me."

"You shouldn't be here." She was talking to her silver pumps, but her words were meant for him. "Your daughter's wedding, and you're hanging out here with the basket case. Go inside; I'm not going to be responsible for ruining your day."

"Yeah, well –" he started his rebuttal and thought better of it. He changed his tone and smiled at the top of her head. "I have to know why the basket case is a basket case. If something here upset you, it's my duty as the father of the bride to take care of it." He grinned, but she couldn't see if. She refused to look at him.

"Your duty is to your daughter. You shouldn't be concerned about the guests. That's not your priority tonight."

"Well, then it sucks that this particular guest ismy priority, then. Doesn't it?" He reached down to lift her chin to face him, and she dodged his grasp, throwing herself into the railing of the balcony, making sure her back was turned completely toward him. He sighed, "Olivia!"

She said nothing.

"Today, of all days, I want all the people I care about to be happy." He moved closer to her back, debating whether or not to extend a hand to touch her shoulder, wondering if she would move away or lash out on the defensive. In line with his better judgment, he chose to drop his arm back to his side. "Just… tell me what's going on."

She mulled over his words. He cared about her. He really did; and this was her problem. She knew how much he cared, she had known for nearly thirteen years. Her knowledge of this information was what was leading to her imminent emotional downfall, she decided. She took his caring out of context. She thought she meant more than she did, and that hurt her worse than if he hadn't cared for her at all.

She couldn't very well tell him that, she knew. Their miscommunication was her own fault. Any overindulgence of their relationship was her pain to bear and hers only. She owed it to him to relieve any guilt he might be feeling. She threw her head forward. "I hate weddings."

He took pause at her words. Surely this was not the reason she was so upset. Surely she could not be making herself miserable over her jealousy of his daughter. That was not the Olivia Benson he knew. "Liv, I…"

"No." She snapped around to face him, suddenly, and he almost leapt backward at her sudden change in attitude. "You wanted me to talk. Damn it, El, let me talk."

He nodded in compliance, watching as she put her hands on the railing behind her to brace herself, acutely aware that she might be preparing to yell or brood in anger. The fleeting thought to close the door to the ballroom crossed his mind, but he ignored it, figuring that such an action would provoke her to become more upset.

She interrupted his thoughts. "I hate weddings. I always have; you know that." She ran her hand over her face, not caring whether or not she smudged her makeup. It was probably already far gone from the amount of tears she cried and the amount of alcohol she consumed. She needed to choose her words carefully, not wanting to upset her partner on the evening of his daughter's wedding. "I love Maureen as if she was my own… but… that's it. It's not the white dress that I feel like I'm missing out on."

He looked at her, visibly confused, and he picked apart her eyes as he tried to make sense of her words. "Olivia –"

"I'm not done."

He snapped his mouth shut at her words and kept his feet firmly planted together on the ground. He wouldn't dare cross her, for fear of his life.

"I'm alone, El," she sighed, when she realized he wouldn't interrupt her anymore. "I'll never have this… any of it. I won't get to watch my children get married. I'll never be able to have that… that pride that I can see in your eyes. I'll never get to experience that. It's too late. I'm alone."

And then the tears fell from her eyes. They were sharp, rapid-fire bullets that fell forth and scraped her cheeks and punctured the ground beneath her, leaving black streaks of inky mascara behind on her face as battle scars. She didn't even attempt to wipe her eyes. She knew he would be able to see through her anyway.

He took a step forward, physically unable to bear the pain of her hurt. "Olivia…" he reached out to her, placing a careful hand on her shoulder. "You're not alone. You have me."

She scoffed. "No, Elliot. That's the point. That's exactly what I am saying. I thought you were my family, but you're not. I thought I had you, but I don't." She swung her arm forward in an attempt to brush off his touch, but he grabbed her instead, taking her hand and gripping it tightly, intertwining her fingers with his. She gasped at the unusual, intimate contact – the tangle of fingers that sent an electric current through her arm and down her spine, pooling in the small of her back.

He looked at her intently, holding her gaze. "Yes. You do. You have me Liv, you've always had me. Always."

"You know," she lifted her eyes from his, staring up into the deep black of the night sky, "Sometimes, I just wish I was Kathy." She choked on her words, after they were already spoken, after she realized her honesty and what she had confessed to. She bit down on her bottom lip, hoping that by some miracle, he hadn't heard her or chose to disregard it.

But he didn't miss a beat. "I do too."

She felt her throat start to close up, her palms start to sweat, her mouth start to dry. She suspected for a moment that she would fall backward off the balcony. Then she realized it was more likely for her to completely evaporate into thin air. What?

He smirked, and she knew her mental anguish was probably physically visible. "That's why I'm out here, Liv." He chuckled and gripped their conjoined hands with his free one. "Because… God, as much as I love Kathy for giving me my kids… You have no idea how much I wish you were by my side through this whole thing. How much I wish I was sharing this all with you."

"Elliot, I—"

"I'm not done." He grinned at her; at the way she tried to protest, at the way her mouth hung open as he revealed his feelings, at the way he felt her fingers tighten around his as he spoke, confirming her agreement. "You deserve this, Olivia. All of it. And I want nothing more than to give it to you."

She tried to speak, tried to say something – anything – to let him know what she was thinking, but not even she was completely privy to that information. Instead, her arm was tugged and she was swiftly pulled into Elliot's chest, immediately enclosed by his arms.

"You have me, Liv." The words were a low rumble from somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach, and he whispered them into her ear. His breath was hot on her skin, and his lips lingered on the soft flesh, lightly grazing over it before he spoke again. "You always have, you always will. And we're just getting started."

She relaxed against him, resting her head on his shoulder and wrapping her arms around the middle of his back. She let her hands travel upward until they reached the nape of his neck, where they stayed as she lightly raked her fingers through the short hairs on his head. Whatever he meant – whatever this meant– for her, for him, for his family, for them – they would figure it out.

For now, they clung to each other, content to know that love was something that could not be contained or controlled by a piece of paper, a ring, and a seven course meal. And they stood, swaying slightly to the music that blared from the celebration indoors. They were celebrating something of their own.

_fin._


End file.
